Tag: so many pee puns

Aftermaths

tragerstreit6 Comments

Well hello. I survived the surgery, it went really well and I am recovering nicely.

…Except for the part where the nurse used chlorhexidine on my hand when starting my IV. Despite the bright red wristband stating I am allergic to chlorhexidine and latex. So that was a weeks worth of itchy fun.

…Except for the part where the IV came out of my hand during surgery so they had to start a new one on my other hand.

…Except for the super nasty UTI that happened and went undiagnosed for a couple of days because I figured it was just irritation from the catheter during surgery. That sucked, really really bad. PROTIP: urine should not be dark and cloudy with red bits floating in it. Get that checked out.

…Except for the doctors really, really not fucking around when they say OxyContin causes constipation. Do not ignore this advice when they tell you to get lots of fiber.

…Except for my hands being unable to fasten and unfasten the elastic bands that keep the bag strapped to my leg. So the bag just kind of kicks it with me in bed.

…Except for the night before last when somehow the bag became unscrewed? And I secondhand peed the bed?

…Except for my body apparently deciding overnight that since I don’t HAVE to use the toilet to pee anymore, getting up off of the toilet is not a thing we get to do. Not easily. Helluva thing to discover at 1 AM due to getting stuck sitting on the toilet for 45 minutes until I finally managed.

All sarcasm and bitterness aside, this thing is fucking amazing. I wore proper underwear for the first time in almost a year. I did not have to put on a pee pad for the first time since October 2017. It’s taking some getting used to, of course – being able to feel balloon inside my bladder has taken some serious adjusting. I also wasn’t really expecting it to be literally a slit cut in my belly with a tube shoved in. There is no connector, no futzy plastic anything, literally a slit with a rubber tube sticking out of it. Thank your lucky stars I’m not about to show that to you. I now have the most hardcore body piercing EVER.

There’s a couple of things I have to do to fully adjust, including hitting up my seamstress friends to help me build some kind of a cover for this thing – so that it doesn’t accidentally become unscrewed again, I don’t get super sweaty having this plastic thing that doesn’t breathe sitting against my skin, and I don’t have to look at a literal bag of urine sitting next to me all the time. I want to get some fat quarters of spooky fabrics and make cute little bags to stick the bag in and disguise it somewhat. Anything to make it look even a little less than exactly what it is.

For now though, I am obscenely grateful for having only to get up once or twice to empty this thing a day, which only involves me getting in the wheelchair and rolling up to the toilet to dump it. I don’t have to transfer all if I really didn’t want to, I have a receptacle to empty the bag into while still sitting in bed. But so far it hasn’t been a problem. I’m not sitting in my own pee right now. I can’t tell you how amazing it feels to be DRY. How awesome it is to be able to wear my cute underwear again. It was worth it. Absolutely no question about it. I’m so glad I did this.

And I’m sure you’re super glad too, because this is hopefully the end of my urine stories. I’m not even gonna make the title a pee pun. You’re welcome.

Pee Brain

tragerstreit4 Comments

When will I stop writing about urine, I hear you ask.

NOT FUCKING TODAY, FRIENDS.

Strap on your diapers, because I am not done yet. BUT MAYBE SOON!! For today I’ma tell you how my urology appointment went.

The short answer is: disasterously, and then really well. The longer answer is: I fucked up and thought my appointment was at 10:30, not 10, and so I missed it like an idiot. I made another appointment for their next free spot, June 4th. Meh. Luckily, someone ELSE fucked up THEIR appointment and missed it, so they called me as I was wheeling myself back to my van and they were able to see me after all.

Two wrongs do, in FACT, make a right.

Sooooo I wheeled myself back to their clinic, we filled in my new patient paperwork even though I am not a new patient, and after all the stress of the morning, J and I got a bit testy with it. “Please list all of your medications” it said. “Go fuck yourselves, you already have this information like eleven times and I am NOT WRITING OUT ALL THIRTEEN MEDICATIONS AND VITAMINS I TAKE,” I thought, and J angrily wrote in “see your records”. I felt guilty for like…a microsecond, because they were being nice and seeing me after I fucked up but HOLY SHIT SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS ALREADY HAVE THIS INFO AND MY HANDS DO NOT WORK SO I WILL NOT BE WRITING YOU A LIST. AGAIN.

We were called back to the room. I was cheerfully asked if I could provide a urine sample. I thought, but did NOT say, that they were welcome to wring out my diaper for some if they want it that badly. Out loud I said that would be very hard, can we skip it. She cheerfully said it was no problem, ushered us to our room, and then came back with an ultrasound machine to see how much urine I had in my bladder. Luckily I was able to lean back my wheelchair so she could turn down the waistband of my skirt to get goop all over me, swipe a wand across my belly, and announce I have 208.

208 what, was never explained.

She disappeared and the urologist came in. I am getting of an age, finally, when sometimes my doctors are younger than I am, but my first thought was “what is she, TWELVE??” so I had to quiet my internal grandma. In order to address my outer grandma problems. She recapped my problems in a nutshell, from my records, to see if she understood properly. She pulled a list of my meds from her chart folder to confirm them with me.

I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO.

She asked how often I get up to go to the bathroom. 3 or 4 times a day, I told her, but it’s closer to say anymore that I go to the bathroom, then get up. Or get up as I am going. Depends on the day. Depends on my body. Depends, literally, are on my body. I would like that no longer to be necessary. She told me that 4 times a day isn’t enough, I really should be going every 3 or 4 hours.

My heart sank. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT SUGGEST KEGELS AND REGULAR BATHROOM BREAKS. PLEASE. PLEASE KNOW WHAT ALS IS. I CAME TO YOU BECAUSE THE OTHER ONE DIDN’T.

“That said,” she told me, her manner becoming instantly less dismissive, “that isn’t very useful to you. You can’t spend half your day and all of your energy just peeing. Not to mention the dramatic increase in fall risk, from transferring in and out of your chair all day.”

Friends.

Friends?

FRIENDS.

The heavens split asunder and choirs of angels with pom poms appeared in the sky and the stars spelled out SHE FUCKING GETS IT. I remembered to breathe.

“Let’s talk options,” she said, and she told me everything I’d already researched myself. We agreed the superpubic catheter was a great option for me, she told me the risks and rewards. It’s a procedure done under sedation, she said, but she’s done emergency ones at bedside with just a local; it’s really simple. I did not tell her I had watched a video of one being done bedside. She said her people would call me to schedule the procedure, and to expect to have it done within the month.

Just like that, five minutes. All agreed and going. They called me the next day. My procedure is on the 4th, the day my rescheduled appointment was supposed to be. Within 2 weeks, I will be on my way to diaper independence. I have so many pairs of cute underwear I can not wait to be able to wear again. I can wear my awesome leggings again without having to worry about peeing them if I can’t peel them off fast enough. I will be done sitting in my own urine because I could not get out of bed fast enough and wondering if I have the energy to get up and do something about it or not.

Most importantly?

I will be done telling complete strangers on the internet all about my incontinence.

And now you’re as excited about this as I am.